


A Noble Truth

by TheRealDanniX



Series: Learning to Live With Each Other [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23987641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealDanniX/pseuds/TheRealDanniX
Summary: Geralt of Rivia hated nobles.He doesn't know he's sharing his camp with one.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Learning to Live With Each Other [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695268
Comments: 6
Kudos: 236





	A Noble Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or Kudos to let me know what you think!

Geralt of Rivia hated nobles. That’s what he was thinking as he paced their camp after having to drag the bard from yet another town where the noble who hired him had refused to pay. He cursed at the stump of man who had promised coin only to turn back on his word the moment the threat had passed. Geralt had growled. Jaskier had tried to be somewhat diplomatic, but the snarling Witcher behind him had ended those attempts rather quickly. It had been a blur after that with shouting guards waving their weapons and angry townspeople throwing rocks and rotten fruit. It had been hours ago, but the Witcher was still unable to calm down. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, after all. Even with the Bard singing his praises, many towns were still inhospitable to Witchers. Nobles most of all.

The bard had been notably quiet after they’d left. Normally, this might have been welcomed, but Geralt was angry. This was the third contract in as many weeks where the noble who posted it cause some problem or another. He wanted the bard to talk. At the very least to voice the same frustrations with the nobility that he had. Bards and Witchers were alike in that manner: the nobility only liked them when they thought there was something to be gained from it. Once that usefulness or usability passed, they were thrown out or chased out. The silence from Jaskier just made him angrier.

“I hate them,” Geralt growled, after forcing himself to sit across from the bard. He looked up from his notebook, tilting his head slightly.

“Who?” His voice was quiet. It didn’t sound like Jaskier. Not really. It didn’t make him any calmer.

“Nobles,” the Witcher spat. “They’re all the same.”

“Are they?”

“All they care about is money and luxury. They don’t care that their people suffer,” he hissed. “They lie and cheat and steal as though it is their gods given right to rub the accident of their birth into the face of all they meet.”

“Surely not all of them are like that,” Jaskier whispered. His blue eyes were fixed on the fire. Geralt was too angry to hear the hurt tone creeping into his voice.

“All of them,” the Witcher growled. “I hate them.” He rose again, unable to contain the frustration boiling in his skin. Jaskier pulled his knees to his chest.

“Right then,” he muttered.

“They abuse all they own for the sake of their own entertainment. They take and take and when they can take no more, they pass it on to their children. Children who turn out just as horrible as them.” Geralt heaved a breath, feeling marginally better for having gotten it off his chest. He still hated nobles. Jaskier was silent for a while. He waited until the other man sat again. It was then that the Witcher noticed the tension rolling off his traveling companion. His lute and notebook sat abandoned to his side while he gripped his knees, staring deeply into the fire. In the decade they had known each other, never had Jaskier looked so distressed. So vulnerable. So, when he finally spoke, the White Wolf listened.

“I suppose I agree. Most nobles are not to be trusted. Fairweather friends, my mother used to call them. They were only around until things were hard.” The laugh that escapes him is bitter and dark and nothing like the Bard Geralt knows. “I liked to think that I would be different. That when I grew up, I could do something that mattered in the world. Help rather than hurt.” Jaskier’s eyes found Geralt’s. “I realized that I couldn’t do that from my family’s shadow. So, I suppose you’re right. Nobles can be horrible. It can be generational. My brothers are just like my father, after all.” Jaskier sighed, looking back to the fire. Something twisted in the Witcher’s gut. Realization.

“You are a noble,” Geralt breathed. Any anger that was left drained out of him as he stared at his shaking bard.

Jaskier put on a show smile, lifting his head slightly. “Julian Alfred Pankratz, eventual Viscount de Lettenhove. Eldest son of James Henryk Pankratz, current Viscount de Lettenhove.” He mined a little bow before letting his head fall back to his knees.

“You never said.” Geralt felt an uncomfortable feeling settle in his veins.

“I suppose not. As I said, I couldn’t grow in my family’s shadow. I don’t use my given name and I certainly don’t use my title.” Another dry laugh. “That doesn’t mean I have divorced myself from the nobility. I can’t really.” Jaskier rose stretching his body. “It’s been a long day. Goodnight Geralt.” He scooped up his lute and notebook, putting them away before he laid down in his bedroll. Golden eyes were fixed on him. He knew that he’d upset his friend, but he had no idea how to fix it. He could tell that the bard wasn’t truly sleeping. His heartbeat too fast. His breathing just a little too shallow.

Eventually, the Witcher sighed. “I was wrong, Jaskier.” His bard didn’t look at him. “I should not have grouped all nobles together. Some are as bad as I have said, but I should not paint them all with the same brush. I have certainly met kind nobles too.” He stumbled over the words, wishing he knew the right combination to undo the damage he’d done.

After a moment of hesitation, blue eyes looked over their shoulder at him. “Thank you, Geralt.” The bard’s voice was clearer than it had been all night. It eased something in the Witcher.

This would not be the thing to make him leave.

Geralt didn’t know why that thought comforted him so much.


End file.
